


Ha, You're My Soulmate!

by orphan_account



Series: Geraskier Prompt Fills [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Established Relationship, Flirting, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Geralt always kept his soul-identifying mark hidden under his wristband and never showed anyone, not even his boyfriend, Jaskier - who also agreed never to show Geralt his own. Until they get in a fight with a bunch of bandits and he loses the wristband.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Prompt Fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626901
Comments: 22
Kudos: 175





	Ha, You're My Soulmate!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous prompter over on Tumblr with the prompts "Soulmate AU" and "Flirting under fire" - thank you so much, dear nonny, I hope you enjoy the story!

Geralt tried not to think about his soulmate, whoever and wherever they were. Nothing more than a liability. Why did witchers even _have_ soulmates? He couldn’t think of any creature less suited for one. 

"Why don't you want to show me your soul-mark?" Jaskier had asked once. Geralt vividly remembers the solemn way he gazed into the campfire, the song of crickets filling up the silence that had, until Jaskier had spoken, encapsulated them. "There's nothing wrong with having one, you know. You never take off that stupid wristband, not even when we bathe!" 

"Because I don't want to remember." 

"Remember what?"

"That there's some poor fool out there bonded to me. Nobody deserves that."

Jaskier scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You're not a leper, Geralt! Being bonded to a witcher wouldn't be half as bad as what you think it'd be. I'd be honoured!"

"And you would be the only one. No, enough Jaskier. I'm not going to talk about it anymore. Yes, I have a soulmate. No, you cannot see the mark. End of discussion. No - I'm warning you. I won't give you a blowjob if you don't shut the fuck up about it."

"Well, when you put it that way..."

Geralt should have known it would bite him in the ass one day.

* * *

Once upon a time, Geralt thought his soulmate was Yennefer of Vengerberg. 

Honestly, it made a lot of sense at the time. They both had tortured childhoods. Both were forced into their respective roles as witcher and sorceress. Choices were taken from them, otherised by humans. The roads they had walked to get to the point they met had been long and hard, and at several points, they never expected to survive it for as long as they had.

A natural match. Or so it seemed. 

Yennefer was not prudish. If she could walk around naked, she would. The slashes on her wrists were badges of pride. Just one more variation of hell she survived. If her soulmark had been on her wrist like Geralt's, it would have been destroyed, but it wasn't. 

It was on her chest, almost over her heart. A thorned rose. 

"Disappointed?" she asked when she discovered him looking. "I already know who my soulmate is."

Yes, he was disappointed. It sat hot and heavy inside him. Not that he was going to admit such a weakness to Yennefer, who was likely to twist it somehow to her advantage. 

"Who?" he asked instead.

"Triss Merigold. We're in what you would call an open relationship. Free to fuck whomever we please." Her grin was lascivious. "It's a good arrangement. She has an obsidian star in the exact same place." 

"Hmm."

Her expression turned sly as she slithered up the bed to straddle his waist. "Tell me, Geralt. Who is your soulmate?"

"Wouldn't know. Haven't met them yet."

"Hmm. I wouldn't be so sure of that, dear witcher. Your soulmate might be closer than you think."

To this day he had no idea what she meant by that. He hadn't asked back then, and he wouldn't now. Soulmates were detrimental to his life on the Path. 

His soulmate, wherever they were, was better off without him. No one could stomach a witcher for very long - well, save Jaskier, but he was the oddest human Geralt had ever encountered - and he refused to dump his baggage at their doorstep and ruin their lives. 

Geralt ruined everything he touched. It was better if he stayed far, far away and refused to engage anyone in the topic of soulmates - including and especially Jaskier, who never seemed to shut up about it. 

It was fine.

* * *

One of the unspoken rules of living life on the road was that no matter how hard you look for one, there is never a safe spot to set up camp. _Never_. Whether bandit or monster, something has unofficially claimed the land your campsite sits on as _their territory_. 

It was a lesson that Jaskier had learned the hard way so many years ago, way back before he met Geralt, though such times were nothing more than a hazy blur now, as though his memories were from an entirely different person. He remembered arming himself with a stick as he cautiously checked the area around his chosen campsite, running away if he heard laughter from bandits or the various horrifying noises of monsters who had not yet caught his scent. 

Yet for all the times he had escaped, there were plenty of times when he hadn't. Monsters had scuttled out of the night to terrorise him - and he was thankful those ones hadn't been capable of climbing trees - and bandits who wanted to torment him for hours on end before they fell asleep and allowed him to escape. Bandits often only killed when they felt threatened or insulted, and since Jaskier wasn't a very threatening person, he tried to keep as many insults as he could out of the songs they had forced him to play. 

Life on the road was rough, it was often shit, and it was always dangerous.

Travelling with Geralt meant that he did not have to worry about such things; Geralt's hearing was so sharp that he could hear odd noises for miles, it seemed. A quick perimeter check was all that was needed, which Geralt did as Jaskier collected the best firewood he could find and refilled their waterskins from nearby streams. It was a good setup. Jaskier had never felt safer on the road. 

That night they had set up camp near the road. The air was hot and humid, thus they kept the fire burning low, setting up their bedrolls in such a way that the smoke was blown away from them. 

As usual on nights like these, Jaskier couldn't sleep. Sticky with perspiration, annoyed by the biting mosquitos, he strummed on his lute for something to do. Geralt meditated beside him. Jaskier remembered the first time he ever saw Geralt do that; he'd screamed, shook him, and begged him not to be dead.

Witchers had abnormally slow heartbeats, they breathed too infrequently and could hold themselves to such a stillness that they could make a corpse jealous. He'd learned not long later that meditating in his presence was Geralt's subtle way of expressing trust.

It stopped being creepy after that. Any time Jaskier saw Geralt slip into a meditative state, he felt honoured. Witchers, by nature, did not trust easily. 

Finally, late into the night, Jaskier was exhausted enough to sleep. He crawled into his bedroll and closed his eyes.

And woke up to the pointed tip of a crossbow bolt staring at him dead in the face. 

"Get up, bard," snarled the man behind it. Tall, broad-shouldered, and lips like smashed strawberries - he was an ugly thing. Chosen a good profession, then; banditry required a certain amount of ugliness. "Quick, or I'll shoot your brains out all over camp!"

Sighing, Jaskier acquiesced, scrambling out of his bedroll and allowing himself to be guided backward until he hit a tree. The crossbow bolt did not waver from his face once. 

"Geralt?" he called out questioningly. "You okay?"

"Fine," he was relieved to hear. Geralt sounded pissed off but unharmed, kept out of Jaskier's line of sight. 

Smashed Strawberry Lips said to his cohorts, "Search the camp - 'specially the horse. Bound to be somethin' useful 'ere."

"Keep your hands off Roach!" Jaskier cried, starting forward - only for Smashed Strawberry Lips to growl and advance a step threateningly. "Bastards," he whispered under his breath, furious. 

"Just imagine our luck," said Smashed Strawberry Lips. "We come back to our territory, all out of people to rib, only to find a witcher and his bard lying around. I can only imagine all the priceless stuff you carry 'round on your horse, Witcher."

Was Geralt really going to stand back and watch these bastards raid and steal his belongings? Got close to his horse? Threatened his life? The stony silence on Geralt's end infuriated Jaskier. It wasn't like these assholes had any intention of keeping them alive anyway once they were done - 

"Jaskier," Geralt drawled. "Pegasus."

And everything went to hell in a handbasket. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it!


End file.
